


a moth to a flame

by qbrujas



Series: with love's old alchemy [2]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Nightmares, i have no idea how to tag things, just a general mood of despair, the detective is in a dark place and feeling vulnerable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26301196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qbrujas/pseuds/qbrujas
Summary: If not even Nat can warm her then there is no fire that can.Eva wakes up from a nightmare.
Relationships: Female Detective/Natalie "Nat" Sewell
Series: with love's old alchemy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008408
Comments: 24
Kudos: 38





	a moth to a flame

It's always the nightmares.

It only catches up to her when she's asleep. Only then she can't deflect, ignore, push it away.

Only when she's asleep it's front and center, a whirlwind of everything that has been hidden. Blood pouring out of the bite on her wrist. Nat, wounded, unconscious, face bloodied and _not healing_.

Deeper memories. Deeper fears. It all bubbles up like boiling water.

She watches it happen over and over again and she's running but unmoving; unable to scream, to think of a way out.

It's the loss of control, the powerlessness that drowns her.

Not knowing what to do and worst of all, there not being anything to do. No matter what she tries. She can only watch.

Waking up is slow. Messy. The line between sleep and wakefulness is blurry and even once she realizes she's dreaming it takes a long time for the panic to stop.

She's in her room at the Warehouse. In her bed.

It's still dark and suffocating and she's drenched in sweat.

Nat is already awake, of course she's awake, (this has happened too many times), steady arms and firm hands already reaching out for her, wrapping herself around her and Eva feels the warmth of her embrace but it's not enough to quiet the ringing in her ears. Not enough to stave off the chill that seeps into her bones and that, that is the scariest realization of all. 

Because if not even Nat can warm her then there is no fire that can.

The thought has that wordless scream rising in her throat again like poison, the prickling on her skin coming back stronger.

Anything to smother the feeling, push it back down, not let it pour out of her.

Eyes closed still, her hands fumble so she can cling to Nat, chase her warmth, the softness of her skin. Nat senses what she wants and accommodates her, holds her tighter. Eva's hands find their way to Nat's hair and tangle in it, and she seeks her mouth like a moth seeks a fire. Their lips meet and it's soft and gentle and not enough, not enough, not enough.

She clings to Nat, desperate, needy, pouring all her urgency and anguish into the kiss. She's breathless, soon gasping into the vampire's mouth—but she doesn't care for air, nothing matters except Nat, Nat, _Nat_ and the searing heat of that kiss and the feeling of her skin against her own and she wants to burn, burn, let the fire of it burn away the remnants of the nightmare and cleanse it off of her skin, consume her, not feel anything else—

"Eva… Eva _."_

Nat breaks the kiss and she whines, wanting to follow, to chase that intoxicating heat to the ends of the earth. But Nat pulls away before Eva can stop her, her deep, deep brown eyes searching her face intently with something like worry in them, pupils blown but gaze narrowed.

She draws a breath and rests her forehead against Eva’s, locks of soft brown hair falling on either side of the two of them, a curtain separating them from the rest of the world.

Her eyes are such a rich, beautiful dark brown. Focused, soothing. They radiate warmth, something deep and steady even when desire flares in them. This close, even in the low light, Eva can see the shades and hues in them and she wants to lose herself in those eyes.

Eva's breaths are ragged still, but she starts to settle under the intensity of Nat’s gaze. The soft warmth of her breath, the strands of hair brushing the sides of her face. Nat's weight on her. Her heartbeat starts to slow, and she knows Nat can feel it.

"What can I do for you, _priye_?" Nat asks, that sweet devotion only highlighting the concern in her voice. She brings up a hand to brush the back of her fingers against Eva's cheek. "Anything you need. Anything at all."

The gentleness of the touch makes Eva shiver, and she closes her eyes.

"I…" She tries to speak but her voice falters. She is still so cold, so unspeakably cold. She swallows. She can't think. She can’t think. "Kiss me, Nat, please."

Nat smiles, but it's different, this one.

(Natalie Sewell has many, many smiles, and Eva has kept a catalogue of all of them in her mind.

This is not the gentle, open smile she gifts most people, the one that drew Eva in from the moment they met. The one that says so much about her character and leaves even more for people to guess. 

It's not the joyful smile she has when it's the two of them on a date or in Eva's apartment or at the Warehouse; nor the sharper one that makes Eva's pulse race—the one that almost makes her look like Mason—the one nobody but Eva ever sees.

Not the one she forces when, sometimes, Eva strikes a nerve she didn't mean to—or Felix strikes a nerve he absolutely meant to—and Nat insists she's okay, really, thank you for worrying.)

 _This_ smile is softer than all the others, a little sad, and it feels… old. Weighted, full of centuries of understanding no human being could have. It's a smile that is loving despite itself, and no other expression Eva has seen on Nat's face has made her seem more like an open book.

Nat kisses her—but not the way she wants.

She cups Eva's cheek in her hand and leans down to press her lips against her forehead. Her cheekbone. Her cheek. They are soft, light, soothing kisses and at any other moment Eva would be melting into the touch, letting the feeling of Nat's lips and her skin and her scent wash over her, take over her.

But it is not enough.

" _Nat…_ " Her voice sounds pitiful, a whine she doesn't recognize.

(But Nat does). 

Nat draws back again, and there is something unexpectedly hard in her gaze this time. Something unyielding.

"Eva, look at me."

There is always gentleness in Nat's voice, but sometimes it's almost entirely covered by a firm, steely resolve. It is now. It is a voice that can't be denied anything.

Eva struggles to focus on anything other than the beating of her own heart, the thumping in her ears, but Nat draws her like a beacon and soon she is the only thing Eva can see.

"I will not give you a fire for you to immolate yourself."

The words are unwavering, as is her voice. She softens them by running her thumb over Eva's cheekbone—Nat always, always softens her harshness, even as she doesn't hold it back.

Nat stares at her for a long time, and for a long time the only sound in the air is Eva's breathing.

After what feels like ages, Nat leans in again for another kiss to Eva's forehead.

"Stay with me," she whispers, and the harshness is gone.

Eva closes her eyes and there is the sting of tears telling her not to open them again.

(It has to spill out one way or the other. Tears or poison or screams or void.)

Every thought in Eva's mind now leads to the same place: Nat.

Nat, who reads her better than Eva can read herself.

Nat, who won't let her throw herself into the fire, even if she _is_ that fire. Nat, whose arms are still wrapped around her with a strength and a certainty that would be surprising to Eva if she didn't know better. 

Nat. 

Her skin is warm. Soft, like her.

The rhythm of Eva's heart has slowed.

There is still that prickling at her eyes, on her skin, there is still that thing within her that wants to escape and she wants to burn it off of her even if it means burning herself with it. She can't let it spill out. 

But the bubbling has stopped and the tide has lowered. 

Eva knows Nat can feel it, too. She buries her face against the crook of Eva's neck. Presses a light kiss to her shoulder. The softness of it against her electrified skin makes Eva shiver. 

Eva takes two deep breaths and shifts on the bed, wraps an arm around Nat. More deep breaths. The need to burn has abated and all that is left is exhaustion.

Nat shifts to look into Eva's eyes again, their faces centimeters from each other's. Nat's hair falls against her cheek and Eva wants to brush it away.

Nat's eyes hold a question.

Eva smiles, strained, tired, but genuine.

**Author's Note:**

> Priye = Sanskrit, 'beloved'.
> 
> I have no idea what this is, but it pretty much wrote itself. This started out as a very different idea in my mind but it kept on going in unexpected directions until I ended up with this.


End file.
